


The King of Spades and his Ace of Hearts

by BlindBandit44



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Relationship, Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Confusion, Exploring Sexuality, Fluff, M/M, Understanding John, but not a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlindBandit44/pseuds/BlindBandit44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment John kisses Sherlock their relationship changes, the only catch is, once Sherlock tells John he's asexual, they both realize how new this all will be for the both of them. But it's fine, it's all fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ace Finds his Heart

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: This fic is an outlet for me to explore my own sexuality, or lack there of I suppose. This is my way of exploring my own asexuality and I will be using Sherlock to explore how I feel about my asexuality. This is NOT how all asexuals are, this might not even be how my asexuality is. This is simply an outlet and a source of exploration without putting myself in a "real life" situation, so DO NOT generalize axesuality from this fic, or expect this story to reflect any asexuals you may know, or yourself as an asexual. Asexuality is different for for everyone, and this is still fiction.

I could feel the blood pumping through my veins, each cubic centimeter pounding in my chest. My skin was hyper aware of each and every sensory touch near me, my ears keen as a bloodhound. The smell in the air was sickly sweet, smelling of sweat and desperation. I could taste victory, the gritty acid in the back of my throat. I could see John running ahead of me, reaching behind him to pull out his gun, quickly taking aim as he shot Mr. Clay’s left thigh. The man went down like a sack of rocks, crying out in pain as we closed in on him.

“You’re giving me a bad name Mr. Clay.” John said to the man as he went about restraining him with his belt.

“You just shot me!” The man exclaimed back at John, looking horrified.

“Ah, yes Mr. John Clay.” I remarked quickly as I grabbed my mobile to text Lestrade our location. “But we just caught you with two and a half million pounds, I believe we call that a result.” I add, sounding more giddy than I really meant to, making John give me one of his ‘a bit not good looks’. But after checking the black bag Clay had dropped, finding it full of cash, John quickly looked as giddy as I did.

After a quick couple of minutes the whole block was surrounded by the NSY, as well as the bank owner. 

“I can’t thank you enough Mr. Holmes!” The small, round banker said, adjusting his wire rimmed glasses. “I never would have suspected someone so close stealing from me!” 

“Yeah Sherlock.” Lestrade adds, stepping up beside me. “How did you know it was Clay? All you had to go on was the red hair!”

“As always Gavin-”

“It’s Greg.” John coughs behind me.

“As always Greg,” I start again. “You see but you do not observe. Yes all of the employees had red hair, it is the Red Headed League after all. But their office just so happens to be in the same 100 meter radius as the Bank of England. And, on top of that, the office used to be a brewery, meaning it has a cellar. Now, the only reason this isn’t public knowledge is because someone wanted it secret. Why? Because they were using the cellar to tunnel into the bank.” I say quickly, sneering at the dumbfounded look on Lestrade's face.

“Oh, that’s brilliant!” I hear John say next to me, his voice airy and sweet. Making a warm blush creep over my cheeks.

“The cellar under Mr. Clay's office ought to be evidence enough. John and I will be leaving now, you can have our statements tomorrow.” I tell the detective inspector, grabbing Johns hand and leading him away.

The taxi gets us back to 221B fairly quickly, and I leave with a flow of my coat, letting John pay the cabby as I open the front door. John and I make it up to the sitting room before the mood in the air suddenly changes. I feel John come up behind me and grab my hand, turning me around so I can face him.

“You were spectacular tonight.” John says, his voice airy and sweet again. “Extraordinary.” He says, taking a step closer so our bodies are touching and I can feel his breath on my neck. 

“Th-thank you.” I stutter, my cheeks going red from the proximity of John, my heart thudding in my chest once again.

“Hm. You’re welcome.” John hums in my hear, his heavy breath tickling my skin. It only takes a moment to realize the signs. The dilated pupils, accelerated heart rate, the subconscious licking of his lips as he looked at my own. Even before John grabbed my face with both hands, I knew it was coming, but I still gasped in surprise.

Johns lips were about a million different feelings all at once. I could feel the chapped edges brushing against mine, but the gentle pressure was convincing enough to allow him to stay close. As Johns eyes closed, mine opened wider, taking everything in. I felt a little out of my depth, and as John pressed his body closer against mine, my mind went blank. 

John ran his tongue over my bottom lip, ripping a gasp from my mouth. The sound was somewhere between shock and curiosity, but John must have took it as an affirmative sound because before I knew it that tongue was in my mouth, searching out my own.

I didn’t really know what it was I was supposed to be doing, I hadn’t done this since uni. It was a little wetter this time, but not as unpleasant. I worked on mirroring Johns actions, trying to make it look like I had a vague idea of what it was that I was doing.

It must have worked, John didn’t stop, and he was making these interesting noises, breathing and groaning into my mouth as he changed the position of his head, trying to deepen the kiss. It was going on for quite a while, was this normal? How long did kisses last? I felt John's hand on my chest and I knew the mood was changing again, but what was it changing to? 

It wasn’t until I felt something hard rut against my thigh that I realized what was happening, but I wasn’t quick enough. John slid his hand down my chest, searching for an erection that wasn’t there. A quick grope, and nearly instant retreat of my hips broke the kiss. 

“I-I, um. John, I.” I started, trying to find something, anything, to tell John. Something to get the scared look off his face.

“Jesus! I’m so sorry, I-I thought you were into that, I didn’t. Shit, I had just assumed our relationship was headed that way. I didn’t mean too.” John explained, his face going red from embarrassment.

“No, John. It was, it was.” I paused, trying to find something that wouldn’t scare or offend. “Nice.” I finally settled for, but I don’t know how convincing it was.

“Nice? Jesus Sherlock, I practically molested you! And it’s obvious you didn’t want any of it!” John said, raising his voice. “I should go. Get some air or something and leave you alone. I’m sorry.” John quickly added as he turned away.

“No John, stop!” I shouted after him, grabbing his wrist. “It’s really not you, you don’t understand.” I tried to explain, leaving my emotions on my face so John could see I wasn’t lying. “I didn’t really enjoy the touching bit, but the kissing was okay. Better than I thought it would be, actually.” I add, hopping John understands.

“Really Sherlock? That sounds like its me. All my fault.” John spits back at me, sounding angry now.

“John, I’m asexual.” I blurt, my eyes going wide from the sudden confession. It’s really not something I tell people, usually I just push them away. But I don’t want to push John away, and I realize it’s because I care about him, I want him to stay, even if it means wet kisses that last a little to long. “It really isn’t you. I don’t do this, but if I were ever going to kiss anyone it would be you.” I finish, my voice going soft as I look at the ground, suddenly ashamed. John is sexual, of course he won’t understand. Stupid, I shouldn’t have blurted that out. 

John gives me a strange look, something I can’t read, and I can feel my stomach drop. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you. I know I’m a freak. It’s okay if you leave, you should find someone who can help you with your needs.” I practically whisper, my throat going dry and my stomach tightening. Losing John sounds awful, but it’s already out and I can’t take it back.

“What? No, Sherlock I’m not leaving you! Christ, no this, this is good. I thought you just weren’t interested. Its all fine.” John says, chuckling lightly to himself. “You know, when you said women weren’t your area, I thought you meant you were gay, not that the whole idea of sex wasn’t your area.” I can’t help but return the smile on Johns face as he takes a step back towards me.

“Well,” I start, “You were half right I suppose. I am homo romantic, but that doesn’t really matter, I’ve never been in a relationship before.”

“If you’ll have me, Sherlock Holmes, I would like to try this out.” John says, his smile growing bigger.

“Are you sure? It won’t exactly. Be easy.” I say a little hesitantly.

“Sherlock.” John chuckles, “Nothing about us has ever been easy. But we’ll learn along the way, it will be fine.”

And I can’t help but smile at Johns confidence. “Okay, we can try.”


	2. The King and his Spade

“So, I’ve been doing some digging.” John says from across the room, his mouth full of a bite of toast.

“Digging for what?” I ask, looking up at John from my position on the couch. He’s eating beans and toast at the desk. 

“Answers, and there were quite a lot actually. This whole asexual thing is much more confusing than being sexual, you know.” John reply's, looking over at me with a smile. “The website I found made it sound so simple at first, it’s just not being sexually attracted to anyone. But then that feeling itself is different for everyone, I quickly found out.”

“I suppose that’s true.” I say, thinking over what John said. I’m a little surprised he’s looked this deep into it, I had just assumed he would look up the definition and be done with it. “But I never really bothered with how everyone else felt about their own personal feelings, I knew what I did and didn’t feel and that was all I cared to learn. Giving it a title doesn't mean anything other than allowing people close to me to have a word to look up if the need ever occurs.” I explain, sitting up so I can face John.

“Oh, alright. And what are those feelings exactly?” John asks, his face scrunching up in the adorable way it tends to when he’s really thinking about something.

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that.” I say.

“Uhm, well just what do you think about sex? Generally, I guess.”

I think for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain my thoughts to someone whose feelings are most likely the exact opposite of mine. “Well, I understand the idea of sex as a concept. I know why people need and crave sex in their lives, however I’ve never participated in such acts and do not plan to in the near future. I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m repulsed by the idea of sex, but it’s not something I’ve ever really wanted to try out either.”

“Okay, what about masturbation? And sex aids? Like porn or toys and such.”

“I’ve masturbated and reached orgasm twice, the first time was to see what all the fuss was about in high school, and the second time was when I was trying to rebel against my asexuality in uni.” I start off, knowing the answer to that right away. “I’ve watched porn a few times, mostly just for a case. But it’s never done anything for me. I get too caught up in the details and inconsistencies to properly enjoy it as I’m supposed to, and I’ve never used a sexual toy to try and help me in any situation.”

John thinks carefully about that for a moment or two, mulling over the new information I’ve given him in his head. “I guess my biggest worry,” John starts, still looking deep in thought, “is offending you. Online there were a lot of different reactions to being in a relationship. some people say they refuse to even touch one another, but others said they wouldn’t mind sex because they like the pleasure it brings their partner. You mentioned you didn’t mind kissing? Is that your stopping point?”

Now it’s my turn to think over what John has asked me. “I don’t know how to give you an answer, John.” I say honestly, a little disappointed in my response. “Sex does not repulse me, as I stated previously. However I don’t know that if we ever got that intimate, that I could ‘keep it up’, per say. You are the second person whose kissed me, and you’re by far much better at it than the other person was. But this will have to be a learning curve for me too. I do not know what it is I will want or need out of this relationship.” I hope John can’t hear the fear in my voice, but I can feel a nervous sweat on my brow and I know it’s unlikely. 

“That would make sense actually.” John says thoughtfully. 

“What do you need from me?” I ask, sounding more confused and scared than I really mean to. “I mean, relationship wise. Kissing isn’t going to be enough, not in the long run. Not for you, right?”

“Um. What if we try out different things? If you’re okay with it I mean. It’s sort of early in the relationship, but maybe finding out how to keep us both romantically and sexually satisfied early on will help? There’s plenty of options.”

“That's. Actually a really good idea.” I say, surprised I didn’t think of it before. “What did you have in mind?” 

“We could, uh, write a list, maybe.” John says thinking out loud. “Stuff that we think we would both be alright with trying out. We could mark a few activities off every couple of days or so.”

It seems simple enough, really. And it only takes a couple hours, and minimal research, to come up with a decent sized list. John and I decide to work our way up to the more sexualized things, starting with what we deem to be as low risk as possible first. And by the end of the day both of us are rather excited to see what will and will not work, and we’re both feeling rather hopeful for our relationships turn of events.

_____

_Rules:_  


_1\. Safe word: pink_  
_2\. Sherlock will explicitly say what he did and did not like about the activity after completion._  
_3\. John will not take anything said by Sherlock personally._  
_4\. None of the activities have to be completed. If something goes wrong, John and Sherlock will both agree to stop._  
_5\. Activities do not have to be completed in order, John and Sherlock will decide what activities they want to do, when and where they feel like doing them._

_Activities:_  


_1\. What Sherlock might like:_  
_-Cuddling: on the couch, in bed, in cab. Clothing optional in private places._  
_-Kissing: tongue or no tongue?_  
_-Touching: Johns: fingers, mouth, tongue. On Sherlock's: back, chest, neck, hair/head, arms, legs, feet._  
_2\. What Sherlock might like to do to John sexually:_  
_-Hand job_  
_-Blowjob: can be tried with hand job if Sherlock is amenable._  
_-Fingering: also under category of ‘what John might like’._  
_3\. Watch porn together._  
_4\. John pleasuring himself with Sherlock in the room._  
_5\. Mutual masturbation: may be tried with or without activities 3 and 4. Also under category of ‘what Sherlock might like’._  
_6\. Sherlock accompanying John to a strip club, possibly allowing John to get off with an employee. Need more data._  
_7\. What John might like:_  
_-Sherlock dressing up: lingerie, cross dressing, costumes._  
_-Role play: situations where John gets off and Sherlock does not._

_*NOTE: John and Sherlock can add and subtract activities as they see fit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping for new chapter updates soon! :)


	3. Dry Ace

It’s been a slow day.

Actually, no, scratch that. It’s been a slow _lifetime_. I haven’t had a case in nearly 48 hours, and I have run low on body parts. The fridge is full of plebeian things, like. Like _milk_ and, god forbid, _orange juice_! With _pulp_! 

I give a loud grunt, followed by a sneer as I roll over on the couch so that I’m now facing the ceiling. I can hear John breathing from his spot on his chair. The gentle inhale and exhale, followed by the soft sound of him turning a page in his book every couple of minutes. 

I steeple my fingers under my chin, looking at John sideways through cracked eyes. His chest moves minutely as each soft puff of breath escapes his mouth. It’s honestly surprising that those lips were on mine only two days ago, his pink tongue exploring the ins and outs of my own mouth. If I try hard enough, I can still feel the ghost of those strong, calloused hands roaming over my body, the solidity of his presence as John kept us close.

This isn’t a feeling I’m used to having, but just thinking about how John wanted to do all these things to me, how he did do all of these things to me, makes my stomach do a sort of flip-flop. I know I can’t give John sex, or at least not now. But I would do anything to make sure John knows that I want him as much as he wants me. Our thoughts on what we want may not be the same, but I’ve already seen how John looks to me. How his eyes still sparkle with amazement and wonder. Even though he knows I can’t give him everything he wants.

To have someone as good for me as John Watson, it’s really unbelievable. And the thought really hits me, like a punch to the gut. I sit up so fast, almost falling off the couch and looking at John with wide, hesitant eyes.

And John looks back, looking at me with a questioning glance, but setting his book down, ready to do whatever I ask, and it’s overwhelming.

“What is it Sherlock?” John asks, saving his spot in his book and setting it down. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” he adds with a small smile that makes my heart flutter. Is this what love is supposed to feel like?

“It’s been two days.” I say, my voice cracking. Is it because of lack of use, or the presence of emotion? 

John smirks, knowing I’m not talking about our last case, but our activities after. “I know. Would you. Would you like to try that again?” John says, suddenly sounding shy and unsure.

I feel unsure too, about many things. But I know what I am sure about, and it’s the man sitting in this room, reading his favorite James Bond book, The Man With the Golden Gun, for what must be the tenth time. “Yes.” I whisper, my voice cracking again, so I clear my throat to retry. “Yes, I would. Please.” 

John quickly gets up, meeting me at the couch, both of us sharing a look of what I can only call fear. “Should. Should we go over the rules first? Is this for activities you like, or activities I like?” John asks nervously, playing with the hem of his jumper and avoiding eye contact. 

“Um, just activities I like, I think. And, we both know the rules right? Our safeword is pink, it will be fine.” I give a sort of rambling mumble, watching Johns fingers as he tugs at his jumper.

“Okay. Alright.” 

It was then that everything had slowed down. In a literal sense, I fear my heart may have stopped, and John couldn’t seem to move faster than a millimeter a second, with his eyes wide and staring down at my lips.

Our first touch of lips lasted less than a second, our lips sticking together slightly as we separated just look look into each others eye. To make sure the other was alright. And it seemed that broke the spell, and we were back together, our lips molding together perfectly. 

Once the kiss felt comfortable and right, with Johns hand placed lightly on my hip. Just the barest swipe of tongue whispered across my bottom lip, asking for access rather than demanding it. 

As I gingerly opened my mouth, I tried to remember what it was John had done two days previous. What sort of things I was supposed to do with my mouth. 

John traced his tongue over my lip again, surprising me by sucking it ever so gently into his mouth, making me gasp. I opened my eyes to find John smirking at me, his eyes shining with excitement, just momentarily before he closed his eyes and started to move his mouth.

John let go of my lower lip, taking the chance to brush his tongue into my mouth, giving languid strokes and moving his hand up my body so he could cup my face. I tried mirroring the motions John was making. Trying to learn and copy the feelings I liked, growing more and more bold by the second; but still keeping the kiss slow, and deep.

I bite down on Johns lower lip, just a slight pressure, but it tears out a lovely little moan from John, and suddenly his hands are all over me. Both hands, with both sets of fingers running lightly over my t-shirt, Johns body pushing itself closer to me as he continues to gasp and pant into my mouth.

John pulls his mouth no more than a centimeter away from mine, breathing hot air down my neck. “Can I, can I kiss your neck?” John asks, his voice airy and breathless, tracing a single finger over my pulse point.

“Yes.” I say, holding onto the ‘s’ a touch longer than necessary. As soon as John latched on, and I mean really latched on, it was like having a leech stuck to me, I noticed the subtle differences between kissing on the mouth, and kissing on skin. One of which is kissing on skin is much messier. I could feel John's tongue tracing along my neck and under my jaw. Leaving wet patches as he moves across the expanse of skin, that feel cold and dry quickly.

And also, my skin is much more sensitive than I would have imagined. I never thought of the neck as a sexual part of the body, but when Johns chapped lips glided over my skin, I could feel the edges of my skin prickling up, creating goose bumps that didn’t feel all bad.

As John continued the exploration of his mouth and hands, I felt the slightest graze of teeth over my pulse, followed by a sharp nip to the skin above the collar of my shirt. “Ah!” I breathed, the action surprising me, but again, surprisingly feeling better than I had expected.

“Okay?” John asks, unattaching his mouth from my neck for the first time.

“‘S good.” I murmur, squirming on the couch from the sudden loss of contact. I could feel John's lips form into a smile as he placed a kiss over the spot he had just bitten. 

“You can move your hands too. If you want.” John says into my neck, licking at the skin in between his words.

I shiver slightly at the sensation, lifting one hand to Johns scalp, running my fingers through his grey-blonde hair. My other hand I place lightly on his side, still hesitant about touching, but John doesn't seem to mind. 

This feeling of being touched, kissed and caressed, was starting to feel good. Feeling natural. I could feel my muscles fully relaxing and I was starting to enjoy all the sensitivity and sensations, when seemingly out of no where, Lestrade burst through the door. 

“Sherlock, I’ve been. _Oh_.” Lestrade says, taking a step back and starting to look embarrassed for interrupting. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean it barge in like that.”

John moved back away from me, leaving another cold, wet spot on my skin, and an even larger, cool spot where I was suddenly missing the lack of body contact.

“You’re fine Greg.” John says, coughing to cover up his breathless voice, sounding more embarrassed than anything.

“I, uh, just came to say I’ve got a real case for Sherlock.” Greg starts, his ears turning red and not looking John or I directly in the eye. “I had been texting him, but I can see why he wasn’t answering.”

That had gotten my attention, and I quickly hopped up off the couch. “Did you text me details already?” I asked, a smile already forming on my lips. “If so, John and I will meet you there. We seem to be in a state of dishevelment, and clearly can’t leave now, seeing as I am in my pajamas, and John is sporting an almost full erection.”

“Sherlock!” John hisses, his eyes going wide.

“Oh, sorry.” I say to John, not that I’m really sorry, but John likes to believe I feel remorse when embarrassing him in front of his friends.

“Yeah I’ve sent details. I’ll leave you two alone now.” Lestrade says, leaving our living room just as quickly as he entered.

“Sherlock, you can’t go around telling people when I’ve got an erection.” John says once Greg has left the room. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” I ask, scrunching my eyebrows together. “It’s a natural reaction to stimuli. Especially for those who are sexual. I would say you’re close to being fully hard, and by the size of the bulge in your trousers you’re a little uncomfortable. Which makes sense, seeing as by the size, I can assume your length and girth to-”

“Sherlock! Please, I was just enjoying myself!” John interrupts me. “You don’t have to analyze it, really.”

I thought about that for a moment before finally saying, “I enjoyed that too. I’m sorry I didn’t get an erection, but I liked the um. The neck thing.” Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed, a crimson blush going over my cheeks.

John smiled at that. “I’m glad you liked it.” He said, his voice bright. “That's one thing we can check on our list so we know we can do that again.”

“Yes. We can.” I say back, returning the smile. “Now, lets get decent so we can get to that crime scene!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping for another chapter update soon! I've started school again, but my class schedule isn't to bad, so we will see :)


	4. Ace's Bluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING PLEASE NOTE: this warning will include spoilers, if you're not bothered by my attempts at showing asexuality and want to avoid spoilers feel free to skip this. However, I attempt Sherlock's inner monologue and self exploration in this chapter. I have masturbation, and failed masturbation. Please remember, masturbation is NOT a deciding factor in sexuality, and some asexuals regularly participate in masturbation! This is an attempt at showing Sherlock's personal struggles, and in this fic I have attempted to show Sherlock as not autochorissexual, which is a sexuality I do not know extensively. If you would like to discuss issues you have with my attempts with Sherlock's lack of arousal and his technique with fantasizing and masturbation feel free to ask me questions in the comments and I will answer to the best of my ability.

This is overwhelming. Beyond overwhelming actually. Do people seriously enjoy doing this? I sneak a glance over at John. It’s still early morning, about a quarter hour before John usually leaves for work. He’s just finished his toast, and is on the last portion of his tea. It’s lukewarm, and John will most likely forget it’s temperature in favor of his newspaper and choke down the last cold gulp before getting up from his chair and cheerily saying _‘Well I’m off! See you in a few hours.’_

_Dull!_ It’s the same almost every morning. And yet, here I am trying to switch things up, and I don’t know if I can handle it. No, scratch that. I can handle it, as John would say, I’m _Sherlock bloody Holmes_ , and I can do anything if I just _suck it up_ and damn well do it!

But this? Looking at the small, soundless video on my laptop screen. My heart rate has definitely increased, but not for the reasons promised in the description. 

It’s sex. Or, more accurately, a simple hand job. Just a young, blonde man lethargically stroking another man’s penis. His other hand freely roaming his partners overly muscled body, and mouthing sentiments in his ear. The resolution to bad, I can only make out bits and pieces of what he’s saying since I have my volume turned down. But from what I can manage, I don’t want to know anyways. Some vulgar use of the English language I would never degrade myself on using. 

Unless. 

I take another quick glance at John, just in time to see him choke down that last little bit of cold tea, and wonder to myself what John’s opinion on dirty talk is. Is it stimulating for him? Does he find it adequate foreplay, or should we stick to kissing?

My glance lingers a few seconds too long, and before I know it John looks over to me, a shy smile dancing over his lovely face at the act of catching me. I can feel the flush rising in my cheeks, suddenly aware of how easy it would be for John to glance over my laptop and see the dirty scene I’ve been watching. I quickly exist out of the browser window and slam my laptop shut with more force than necessary, and look back over to John. A quizzical look on his face, his features soft and amused as he most likely wonders what it is I’m hiding from him. 

“Well, I’m off. Try not to break your laptop while I’m gone, yeah?” John says, chuckling lightly at his own words. 

“Hmm. No promises.” I murmur, glancing down at my lap, despising the small video I insisted on watching. I can feel Johns hesitancy, though. So I look back up to see him looking at me with a dull fierceness in his eyes. “What?” I ask, suddenly self conscious of John’s rather intimidating stare.

“Can, can I kiss you goodbye?” John asks, his cheeks turning the lightest shade of pink, as if embarrassed by the question. My emotions must feel some sort of sympathy for Johns, because my own face starts to flush yet again.

I quickly place my laptop on the ground and stand up, a little less gracelessly than intended, before responding simply, “Yes.”

The crooked smile John gives is almost heartbreaking. It’s like he truly believes each kiss from my lips is just as golden as the last, and it makes my heart swoop. As John steps closer to me, the blush on my cheeks deepens, and creeps down my neck as the slightest pressure of lips is pressed against my own. “I’ll see you in a few hours.” John says, staying mere inches from my face, still looking down at my mouth like he would rather devour it right now, than leave. “Try and stay out of trouble, okay?” He adds, leaning away from me to look into my eyes and give me another smile that’s soft around the edges. 

As John walks away to grab his coat, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. And I feel the heavy thud of my heart pumping as John gives me one last glance before heading out the door to work. 

After John leaves, I can’t tell for certain how long I stand in the same spot. Time has started to blur, and my mind can’t seem to focus on any one coherent thought. However, there seems to be an underlying theme of John traveling from idea to idea. Such as the way he looks, smells, sounds, feels. How fast my heart beats the closer John steps towards me. The vague ache in my chest that he’s gone, and the irritation at my minds quickness to missing John. And the even bigger ache, the ache practically ripping me in two. The ache I’ve been avoiding, ignoring. The twist in my gut that I can’t feel about John the same way John feels about me. And it hurts. Everything I’m made up of can feel it. My whole body and soul all wishing the same thing. I want John, I want everything from him. But it’s not the same. What I want isn’t normal. It isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. 

I want to lay my head on John’s chest. I want to bury my nose in the soft crook of his neck and smell that underlying John aroma. To have him fill my nose, my head, all my senses.

I want to take John to a locked room murder and tell him who, what, when, where, why, and how. I want to make John smile, I want his laughter to radiate and brighten up the world. To have his cheeks flush with pride as he tells me _‘that was fantastic!’_

I want John to fall asleep while we watch telly, and slowly fall so his head is resting on my shoulder. And while he sleeps I’ll trace chemical bonds on the back of his hand while his breath runs down my neck, making me shiver. 

I want to sit with John at Scotland Yard and recite every digit of pi that I know from memory while we wait for Lestrade to hurry up and let us in his office. I want John to tell me he only knows the first six digits, but just the sound of my voice is enough to keep him content for hours.

I want John to know that even though I don’t find him “sexy”, he’s still the most beautiful human being I’ve ever met. From the inside out, there is no other John in this universe that can ever compare to my John.

But, is that enough? How strong is John’s sexual attraction? Does that affect his sex drive? I want everything from John, but am I willing to give everything in return? 

I can feel the dread rushing through my body. The feeling of insecurity and doubt. I want to give everything to John, but am I really good enough? I think back to that video, the two men pleasuring each other. Can John and I do that? Which really comes down to me. Can I do that? Can I sit back and let John touch me. Open myself up and relax into the feeling of those sturdy doctors hands wrapping around me. 

My brain finally catches up, and I can feel my feet moving, finally leaving my spot in the middle of the living room where John kissed me. 

My feet have taken me to my room, and my heart sinks. I know what I need to do. What I always need to do. I need data, first hand knowledge. How can I expect myself to sit back and let John pleasure me, when I haven’t pleasured myself in years?

I let out a shaky sigh, and systematically start to undress. The process is slow, but it must be done. I start with my dressing gown, hanging it nicely on the door. Then take off my t shirt, folding it with unnecessary precision, and following that up with my pajama bottoms. I neatly set both items of clothing on my chair in the corner, knowing I’ll just put them back on once I’ve finished my deed. 

Fully nude, I strip the blanket off my bed. Optimistic in hoping I’ll in fact make a mess. And finally settle myself down on the soft sheets. I lay there for just a moment, trying to lower my heart rate and relax my muscles. Everything is surprisingly okay at the moment, and my thoughts are filled with John, and not the activity I will do for him. 

But the feeling only lasts so long, and after ten minutes I know I can’t avoid it any longer. I lift my head off my pillow and glance down my body, seeing my penis lying casually flaccid in between my legs. Minding it’s own business. I place my hand on my ribs, my palms sweating. 

I ignore it. I slid my hand ever so slowly down my side, feeling each protruded rib, the dip of my stomach, my hip bone. 

I stop once again. I take a couple more shallow breaths, and look down my body. Do I have to touch it? Can’t I just leave it alone? Surely there are more effective ways to sex. What other erogenous zones do I have? Nipples, anus, mouth. Well, I suppose John’s already had my mouth. But Nipples? 

I allow my hand to retreat, and pointedly not thinking about it as an act of cowardice, and placing my hand over my pectoral. Which feels rather normal, no arousal or negative feelings. I brush my thumb gently over the nub of my nipple, to which it hardens slightly. It’s a little odd, but not the worst thing I’ve ever felt. I stick my thumb in my mouth, and try again. Letting my saliva reduce the friction, but add more pressure as I gently rub over my left pectoral. I try moving up and down, left to right. Little circles. I massage the flesh, and add more saliva. I try both nipples at the same time, and then one at a time. 

I keep at it for a few minutes, but no matter the sequence, or no matter what side, it doesn’t seem to matter. It’s rather boring, and I wouldn’t call it arousing or sexual. Just odd.

I let out a long groan, knowing that was supposed to be my easy way out of this, but I’m still flaccid, and now have spit all over my chest. Which leaves me with two choices. Anus or penis? I have first hand knowledge of pleasuring myself with my cock. The data is a little dated, but I know more about it’s stimulus and reactions. However, I’ve never tried prostate stimulation, and perhaps that will feel just as nice, or even better. And maybe help me to keep an erection. I’m sure if I don’t come the first time we have sex, John won’t be too disappointed. But if I can just have a semi aroused state while with John, surely that will make him more comfortable? 

I’ll try it for John.

I lift my legs, opening them up so my bum is assessable. I don’t have any lube, so I once again stick my fingers in my mouth, hoping saliva will do. I bring my index finger to the crack of my arse, running my finger over, but not quite in. I take a deep breath and spread my cheeks, and let my finger find my hole. But I can’t get it to move. This. This is not like anything I’ve done before. I’ve never touched myself here. It’s too new, too different. I don’t care how much I love John, and how much I want him to be content sexually. I cannot do this right now. This is apparently the extent of my body.

I quickly wipe my fingers off on my sheets, getting the spit and imaginary wrongness of my arse off my hand. 

So. I’m back to where I started. A flaccid penis, and a dirty little though in my brain. If I want to give my body to John, I’m going to have to give him my cock. I can do that. Maybe the feeling has changed, maybe touching myself can be enjoyable. John is enjoyable, if I think of nothing but him and his hands on me, surely this will feel better? 

I’ll give it a try. And, without thinking too much, I take myself in my hand. I’m still soft, but with small, even strokes, I can feel myself start to harden. The hot and sticky feeling of arousal creeping over me as I try to maintain some sort of rhythm. And it’s almost successful. If I close my eyes, I can see John’s face, and I can see his hands. But I’ve never been one for fantasizing. I’m having a hard time connecting my version of John to the actions I’m doing myself. So instead, I focus on what I know for certain. I picture John’s mouth. I can see his eyes looking at mine, looking like he wants to just devour my mouth. I think of the feeling of his lips on mine. The pressure of his lips, and the feeling of his tongue as he asks for permission to enter my mouth. 

But the more I try to add to the fantasy, the more it feels forced. Is that really what John would do? How long does he usually keep his lips on mine before he adds his tongue? But wait, what have his hands been doing, I forgot about those. 

And the more frustrated I get at my inability to visualize John and how he would help me, the harder it gets to stay erect. I try to think of John's voice when he’s aroused. The rough flow of words leaving his lips. But I can’t seem to come up with the right sentences. Nothing flows right. I try to feel his hands on my hips, but I don’t know what he’ll do with his mouth. And this happens over and over again, before I’m once again flaccid, and trying in vain to piece together six different fantasies together, but none of its working. 

I let out another long groan, frustrated in myself. I worked so hard trying to visualize John I can’t even remember if I felt good at all touching myself. Did I like it? What technique was useful? What should I tell John? Do I prefer long strokes, short strokes? Fast, slow, varied?

It’s like the heavy cloud of overwhelming amount of questions forming in my head is a physical being looming over my body and draining every ounce of self respect I have. There is no way I can do this. I can’t even get myself aroused, what will John say when he touches me and my body doesn’t react like it’s supposed to? 

Will he be angry? Will he think I’m abnormal? Will he lose hope and see that our relationship really can’t go anywhere sexually? 

The ugly thoughts swarming my head are unbearable, and I don’t think I can handle anymore. Not right now. Not while I’m naked, unaroused, and lying in bed alone. 

I make an effort to shove all thoughts out of my brain and quickly dress in my pajamas and go back out to the couch. Unable to stand the suffocating truths hidden in my bedroom. 

John will be home in a few hours. John always makes everything better. He can make me tea, give me a gentle kiss and it will all be okay. 

And John, beautiful, dependable John knows how to stay aroused. John knows how to feel pleasure. Maybe, if he’ll let me, I’ll touch him. I’ll try my best to make him feel good, and I’ll show him how much I care. Maybe he wont notice my lack of arousal. And when he’s properly ejaculated, and lying lethargically on my bed. I’ll get a warm flannel, gently clean him up, and bring him tea. I’ll add sugar, because even though he doesn’t like it, I bet his soft kisses will taste even sweeter with sugar added.

After only a few minutes, my brain is fully engulfed in the flames of John, sugar, and soft kisses. And I fall asleep with a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sosososososo SO sorry this took so long! College has just been kicking my ass this year, but good news is I'm on summer break in a few days! I'll work hard to bring back a regular schedule for posting updates with this fic and my other WIP's. Thank you so much for everyone who as waited for this chapter! 
> 
> I also love getting comments from everyone! Please let me know what you think! Or feel free to ask any questions about Sherlock and asexuality. I'm not an expert, but I have vaguely based Sherlock's asexuality on my own and I may be able to help you better understand if there is something you would like to know more about.


	5. Wild Card

I can tell I’m dreaming by the softness blurring all the edges in my vision, a sweet sense of contempt filling my chest. I’m not doing anything spectacular, just sitting in 221B. I can’t see John, but somehow I know he’s there. I hear a sound coming from the kitchen.

So, making tea then? 

In my dream I can’t get up off the couch, but I turn my head in the direction of the kitchen. I see John standing still, facing away from me. He’s wearing his oatmeal colored jumper and jeans. But what is he doing? I try to call out to him, but similarly to removing myself off the couch, I also seem to lack communication skills. So, instead, I just sit on the couch, watching a motionless dream John. It’s nice. John’s blurred around the edges too. So soft and almost vulnerable looking. 

Dreams are strange, I can’t exactly tell how long it is John and I stand and sit respectively in silence, not even looking at one another. It feels like hours, yet I can tell no time at all has gone by when John gives a low chuckle.

But it’s odd. It’s not Johns normal, giddy chuckle. It sounds. Off. Somehow. Like he’s straining against his own vocal chords. I try to move again, but I’m still immobile. John doesn’t turn around, but I know before the first word slips from his lips that this isn’t John. My dream John's body has been stolen, and the indistinguishable voice shudders through my body.

“I told you, Sherlock.” The tight, straining voice laughs. The body still not turning around. “Don’t get involved.” 

If I could see myself, my dream self, I know I’d be white as a ghost. Mycroft's words circling my brain, John still not turning around, refusing to save me from this suddenly hellish nightmare. 

“Sentiment, Sherlock. You’re on the side of the loosing.” The Mycroft voice tells me, filling every fiber of my being.

I struggle, trying to move, trying to speak. _No!_ I practically shout, but the words are lost, coming out of my mouth as nothing more than a faint murmur. _You’re wrong, Mycroft!_

I try to move again, but suddenly frozen as dream John turns slowly. Ever so slowly. As his soft, blurred body rotates, his sandy grey-blonde hair turns dark. The comfortable oatmeal jumper turns into a dark suit. It’s not John’s face that meets me, but instead Moriarty. 

“Didn’t see that coming, did you brother mine?” Mycroft's voice laughs, the sound seemingly coming from nowhere, filling the air with an unwanted stench. 

Moriarty's cruel face turns into a vindictive smile, all teeth and endless eyes. I can feel my heart racing as he opens his mouth.

“Didn’t I tell you Sherlock?” That sickly sweet sing-song voice says. The timber resonating through my bones. “I’m going to burn the heart out of you.” Moriarty whispers, but it’s no less powerful. His soft, yet solid voice traveling up my body, paralyzing me yet again. I can’t breath. My eyes are shutting. Sound never quite reaching my ears. All of my senses, gone. I’m left alone with nothing but my mind palace. My thoughts, my intelligence. And it’s frightening. The eerie loneliness, the heart wrenching longing. 

_Where’s John?_ Is all my mind can come up with. The one coherent thought that’s nothing but my own. A jumble of letters swarming my mind. 

“Sherlock?” I hear. Just the faintest sound. Like it’s far away. Like it’s calling me.

I start up a sprint, not knowing where it is I’m going. Passing door after door, memory after memory. 

_Science fairs, frog dissection, fetal pig dissection, botany, John._ John!

“Sherlock. Sherlock wake up.” 

It’s John I’m running towards. If I can just make it to his room. His spot in my mind palace. I’ll wake up. John will wake me up.

I run, faster, knowing where I’m going now. Up the stairs, past my childhood bedroom, and into John’s room. I burst through the door and I’m suddenly hit with everyone of my senses. It’s like John is surrounding me. His smell, the feel of his skin under my fingertips, the taste of tea and biscuits, the harmonious sound of his laugh. I force my eyes open and am flooded with John. Real John. Leaning over me on the couch, holding my hand and smelling faintly of tea. He smiles down at me.

“Sleep well?” He asks softly, gazing into my eyes, his own crinkling around the edges.

“Hm.” I groan, sitting up, a dazed look on my face I’m sure. “No.” I grunt, my voice thick with sleep. “Not particularly.” To which John chuckles at.

“Well you were sure out like a light when I came in. I’ve been trying to wake you for five minutes now.”

Memories of my earlier activities suddenly come rushing back, a vague feeling of where my strange dreams came from washing over me. “I had a, ah, rather exhausting morning.” I mumble, looking away from John as my cheeks redden slightly.

“Oh yeah?” John says, his voice sweet and airy. “Doing what exactly?” 

“I, uh. I- nothing in particular.” I can feel my blush deepen, my ears and neck heating up dramatically.

But John only laughs, the soft laugh that filled my mind palace. “Yeah, well you’re red as a tomato, I don’t know if I believe that.” 

“You’ll laugh.” I murmured, looking away from John once again.

“Hey now.” Johns steady voice whispers. Taking his hand out of mine to place on my cheek. “I wouldn’t laugh at you. You know that.”

I swallow thickly. Ears turning red again, and suddenly feeling uncomfortable sitting so close to John. “I, um, I tried masturbating while you were out.” I say, my voice low. A tone of underlying shame coming through. I look up to see John patiently waiting for me to continue. Knowing that’s not the end of my story. “I really did try.” I whisper, having to look away once again. Shame and guilt flooding through my body. I bring my knees up to my chest, distancing myself from John as much as possible. 

“Sherlock-”

“No, John!” I start, burying my face in my knees. “I couldn't do it. You don’t understand. It was for you and I failed!” I practically sob, my emotions getting the better of me. Tears almost threatening to leave my eyes, but I refuse. 

“Sherlock, please. It’s alright.” I feel John move closer to me, sitting himself on the couch near my feet. But hesitating, not touch yet. I can feel he’s unsure if that’s what I want.

“I’m, I’m just broken.” I whisper, my words muffled by my legs.

“No.” John says, his voice strong. This time there is no hesitation when he reaches out and places a gentle hand in my hair. Fingers running through my unruly curls. “No, Sherlock, you’re perfectly normal. There is nothing wrong with you, alright? Your ability to masturbate has no hindrance on my feelings for you.”

I still avoid John's eyes, but I gain some strength in my voice. “But I need to do it for you, John.”

“You don’t need to do anything for me.” John says, his voice steadier than my own. “Sex isn’t about orgasm. It’s about wanting that pleasure and closeness with another person. We don’t have to jump so quickly into sex, or even jump into sex ever. We’ll find a way.”

And at that I do have to look up. Because John is just being ridiculous. “You don’t understand.” I say, my voice still shaky. “I’m never going to want it. It’s not something that will ever just click in my brain. This is something I’ll either never do, or give to the right person.” I take a shaky breath, looking at John who is now silent, looking at me with wide, questioning eyes. “I’ve gone so long in my life now thinking that someone didn’t exist. I thought I would never give myself up that intimately because I figured no one was worth it. I trained myself to think that way, John.”

I can feel my voice strengthening with each word. Each truth building up. “But then you came along.” I murmur, a smile threatening to take over my mouth at the thought of John coming into my life. “And I knew that changed. I knew I would give myself to you, if you wanted it. But even for years I thought you didn’t want that, and it never seemed a problem. Until now. I thought I was mentally prepared to give you my body, but it doesn’t work.” My last words straining to come out through grit teeth. Anger and frustration clouding my judgment. I feel hollow and ashamed.

I’m just about to get up and storm away when John, soft and appealing, wraps himself around me in a gentle embrace. I try to open my mouth to protest, to say I don’t need his sympathy. But all that comes out is a strangled whimper. A soft cry of distress as salty tears streak down my hot cheeks on their own accord. 

I grab Johns jacket, pulling him closer so I can bury my tear-streaked face his his shoulder. An angry grunt escaping my lips as John holds me tighter, his fingers carding through my hair once again.

It takes several long minutes before I realize John is whispering sweet sentiments in my ear, fingers running over my scalp and back. I pull away slowly, feeling the swelling and sting of my tear-soaked eyes.

“I apologize.” I say, my voice wrecked from crying. “That was- I didn’t mean-”

But instead John, kisses me softly. A small peck on the mouth. “Sherlock, I meant what I said. You’re perfect just the way you are. We’ll find something that works for us, alright? I don’t need sex right now. I just need you happy and comfortable. And if intimacy makes you uncomfortable, than we can always stick to cuddling and kissing, yeah? You like that.” The corners of John's mouth turn up ever so slightly, a small smile shining off his perfect face.

Not trusting my voice, I instead smile in return, nodding in response. I place my hand on John’s cheek, pulling him close to me so I can plant a kiss on his mouth. Just a quick, soft, brushing of lips. No tongue, but instead a silent promise. A promise to John that I’ll trust him 100 percent, and a promise to myself that everything will be okay.

I break away, but stay inches from John’s face. His eyes locked on my lips. “Want to order in?” John breaths against my mouth, bringing his hand to my cheek so he can stroke his thumb over my bottom lip.

“Yes.” I practically hiss into John’s mouth. Following his eyes as they follow my lips. 

I can feel John wanting more, but I can sense that he knows now is not the time. So instead, he breaks his gaze away from me to stand up, collecting himself so he can order some curry. And maybe, just maybe, after dinner we can do some of that kissing and cuddling John insists that I like. I smile to myself as I sink back into the couch, content with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all were ready for the feels trip! Poor Sherlock really just needed some reassurance from his John.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my third WIP so I'm just going to say now that updates will be a little sketchy. My fic Intermittent Tremor is my top priority at the moment for updates.
> 
> And also, I am American, this is not Beta'd or Britt-picked!


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